


The Fall (and Fucking) of the Immortal Hercules

by Basson069



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Disney - All Media Types, Hercules (1997)
Genre: Anal Sex, Armpit Kink, Ass to Mouth, Bad Ending, Cock Slut, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gay, Gay Sex, Large Cock, M/M, Pheromones, Scents & Smells, Sweat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basson069/pseuds/Basson069
Summary: The fall of Hercules at the hand of a centaur with a very special, very natural talent.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	1. Prologue

The shepherd hears the noise from afar. Just over the hill, breaking through the peaceful pastoral scene. He knows the area well, so leaving his flock for a moment to investigate will not cause any harm. His sheep are far too focused on the grass to want to leave anyways. His guidance isn’t needed at the moment, so he walks in the direction of the noise. The sun shines particularly hot today, Helios sparing none with his blazing light as it travels across the blue sky.  
The shepherd hears the noise again, this time clearer: it’s a sharp cry of pain, or something akin to that. A man calls out, his lungs filling the countryside with his fervor and plight. The shepherd passes into an area he’s familiar with, a small path that will lead into a wooded forest. At its edge, a waterfall and a small pool. The man’s cries now seem to echo from out of there, becoming more distinct as the shepherd comes closer and closer. New sounds fill the air and create a chorus of noise, painting a new picture that stops the shepherd dead in his tracks. Slaps, heavy wet slaps, begin to intermingle with the man’s cries. No longer do they sound of that of pain, but of pleasure. Heated, wet pleasure. Under the man’s cries are heavy, throaty grunts and an occasional chuckle. A heavy slap, like a hand striking something, sounds off in the meadow. A taunting chuckle follows. Words are said, but the shepherd is too far away to make them out.  
Against his better judgment, the man begins to creep, inch by inch, up the hill that he knows will overlook the pool and the area beneath. Heat rises in his stomach and travels down to his cock as the sounds of heated pleasure and fucking fill his ears. He adjusts his creeping and crawling to compensate for his now swinging, throbbing cock. When he reaches the top of the knoll, it takes every fiber of his being to not start stroking immediately. The sight before him causes his jaw to drop and his cock to throb. Armor and a sword is strewn around the edges of the clear pool. Waves lap at the forgotten weapon, clearly having gone unused. At the center of the pool is a centaur of massive proportion. A tint of sweat covers the centaur’s muscled arms and chest. His powerful body glistens in the hot afternoon sun. The shepherd can smell the centaur’s mating pheromones even from his safe perch on the grassy overlook. It is made all the more pungent by the sweat. The sight underneath the centaur is what drives the shepherd to take his cock out of its hiding place in his cloak and begin to stroke: a man, much smaller in comparison to the massive beast, is bent over on all fours underneath the monstrous form. Heavy and hairy balls slap against his tanned and toned ass with every thrust from the centaur. Across the man’s face is painted an expression of immense pleasure and his cries have now begun to run ragged from tiring out his vocal chords. A centaur of this size with a horse cock? The shepherd imagines the size this fallen hero is taking up his vulnerable ass and almost orgasms. A voice rips his attention away from his own cock and back to the clearing below.  
“One little whiff and hero boy just bends over, huh?” The centaur laughs as he thrusts. “Did nobody ever tell you about centaur’s in heat? Come within even a hundred yards of us and your mind, and body, bends to our cocks in an instant.” The beast’s arms are crossed and a look of cocky disinterest is worn across his face. While this fucking must be world changing for the hero below, the centaur looks like he’s about to yawn.  
“Useless little hero, aren’t you?” Another heavy thrust. “Can’t even make me cum properly?” The hero cries out in pleasure. “Can’t even save yourself from my musky balls?” The hero trembles in pained ecstasy. “Or from my sweaty asshole?” The hero’s eyes roll back into his head. “It’s almost as if the gods themselves ordained you to take my thick, hung meat up your little pussy. You thought you were going to defeat me, didn’t you? Save the day and rescue the damsel in distress? Well she’s gone and its just my cock and your doom now!” The shepherd’s eyes go wide hearing this. So the hero was meant to vanquish the beast? And yet he fell not only to his strength, but to the beast’s cock? The beast’s musk?  
Against his best interest, the shepherd stays on the grassy knoll. Even after investigating, he is not satisfied. He inhales more and more of the “fresh air” tainted with potent horse musk and strokes faster. It is a heavenly trap the shepherd now finds himself in, unable to pull himself away from the sight before him. Unable to take his hand off his pulsing manhood for even a moment to clear his head and think rationally. A throaty moan escapes his lips as he loses himself in his pleasure. He does not stop to see if the centaur has noticed. He does not care. He only cares to breathe and stroke. Breathe and stroke. Breathe and stroke.  
The centaur does not stop his lazy, heavy thrusts. He only smirks as he notices his next victim up on the grassy overlook. He trots forward, his cock still sheathed within the fallen heroes ruined ass. The pathetic, moaning mess of a man scrambles forward with the trotting horse, each step onward a new thrust into his already bruised ass. Had the shepherd been paying attention, he’d have seen spurts of cum shoot out of the hero’s soft cock. The champion-turned-fucktoy had lost his hard-on hours ago. He’d been soft for at least three orgasms at this point. His mind was numbed beyond reason, addicted only to the sensation brought on by the massive thrusting cock inside of him.  
“Wouldn’t you agree shepherd, that unseen and distant gods who sit on high on their thrones in the clouds should not be the ones that govern man below?” The centaur now raises his voice to the pheromone drunk man jerking off on the grassy knoll above. The shepherd nods fervently, hanging onto every word out of the beast’s mouth like a sinner to gospel. The stupid and empty look on his face indicates that he really isn’t quite grasping the gravity of his predicament, simply lost in bliss. “I believe that should a creature arise strong enough to sway the wills of both mortals and immortals alike, that it would be his heavenly right to govern those beneath him. This poor mortal “hero” turned into an empty cocksleeve the moment he caught a whiff of my pungent asshole. The moment my heavy balls drew his nose under their control. And you, good shepherd? You are clearly no different. Just a mortal fool ready to be fucked more senseless than you already are now.” The shepherd orgasms at these words, never stopping his fervent stroking for a moment. He maintains his erection and continues to stroke.  
“I have heard tell of a prophecy,” the centaur continues, almost to himself, pondering out loud. “An immortal hero here on earth who will either save or doom the heavens on high. If my musk, if my potent body, can enslave such a hero, surely the gods would fall in line next. Half-god and half-mortal worshipping my sweaty asshole? Licking my shaft? Inhaling my dripping armpits? Mortal and immortal alike would be useless against me.” The speech almost hypnotizes the shepherd. He is brought to his feet by those and begins to slowly shuffle towards his new master. The centaur had not stopped thrusting even for a moment as he had spoken.  
“Good shepherd, you will be my second disciple, after this young cocksleeve here. Will you do me the honor of providing this prophetic demigod unto me? So that I may convert him as well?” The centaur smirks as he speaks. He knows the answer, but asks anyways. Any sign of resistance would just be entertainment at this point. The pheromone drunk man jerks himself off faster at the idea of converting more to this creature’s musky church. How could he say no? Deny the world this new pleasure he has discovered?  
“Worship now, inhale from my fountain of bliss and pleasure!” The centaur stops his thrusting, leaving his cock sheathed inside his new sleeve. Slowly turning around, equine hindquarters are presented to the lustful shepherd. Square in the middle is the new object of the lost man’s desires: a puffy, sweaty asshole. The shepherd all but lurches forward and shoves his face into the hole before him, another orgasms erupting from his cock at the first whiff of his new master. His new god. The shepherd’s nose is promptly lodged into the sweaty ring, where it will stay for as long as his master desires. His sheep forgotten, the broken man begins a new life on this day. A life of service and worship to the greatest stench to ever penetrate his brain and fuck his mind.  
“Good disciples. Drink in my cock, savor my asshole. Worship like the pigs you are. Mortals and immortals alike shall inhale my musk and fall. First we shall gather more disciples, then we bring the hero called ‘Hercules’ to his rightful place: bent over and drunk on my thick, meaty fuckstick!” The centaur laughs to himself, filling the glade with a noise outside of pleasured moans and fervent licking and sniffing.


	2. The Minotaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hero's call to action, and the beginning of the end for Hercules.

The son of Zeus stretches his aching body in the hot Mediterranean sun. A small gust of wind running through the grassy pasture offers some respite from the heat, serving to momentarily cool down the sore hero. Hercules had at last found himself a quiet moment of privacy on this hot afternoon, ways away from his trainer Phil and his winged companion, Pegasus. His day had started early with strength and hero work, carrying more weight than he had ever before in his entire life. Running more than he could remember any other man doing in his lifetime. But this was his life now, up early and up late, training and fighting to earn his way into Olympus. To earn his way into his father’s good graces. The young hero sighed to himself, a familiar empty feeling returning to his soul. While his foster father and Phil did their best to fill that void in his heart, Hercules knew he’d never be satisfied until he was reunited with his true father. Whatever goal he might have, having a relationship with Zeus would always be at the forefront.

Hercules knew he need to prove himself as a hero, not only for Phil’s approval, but to see his real father again. He had to take every opportunity given to him, no matter the risk. Hercules knew that Phil had his best interest in mind, but the satyr constantly stifled any enthusiasm he had to get out and do real work. To do any real quests or missions.

“Are you a hero?” A voice interrupts the hero’s thoughts. Hercules looks up from where he reclines on the ground to see that a man has approached him. He smiles warmly, his sun-cracked face inviting and friendly. He is dressed as a local shepherd would dress, though Hercules does not see not hear any sheep in sight.

“A hero? Me? Why of course I am! A mighty hero!” Hercules jumps to his feet, excited for the first time in weeks. 

“I am looking for the services of a hero who might be able to help me retrieve my flock of sheep from a terrible monster!” The shepherd explained patiently, smiling at Hercules’ energy. Hercules perked up instantly. A small quest! Something to help him prove himself!

“Not to worry sir,” Hercules clears his throat, puffs out his chest, and tries to drop his voice deeper. “I think I’m just the hero for the job! Just point me in the right direction and I’ll have your flock back in no time!”

“Oh I bet you are,” the shepherd agrees with a nod. Hercules doesn’t notice the small smirk that forms across his face, or the look in the man’s eyes that seem to say ‘this is all too easy’. The shepherd points to a series of mountains only a few miles off into the distance. “My flock was taken into a cave at the base of the largest mountain. The minotaur that guards them is twice the size of a mortal man and just as fierce. Bring them back to me at this same spot and I will reward you handsomely, hero.”

Hercules sucks in his gut and puffs out his chest, giving his most hearty agreement and reassurance that he would get the job done. The mountain was only three hours or so away on foot. He could be back by the time the sun set, or just afterwards. The hero heads off, in a hurry to vanquish the beast and earn his first glory. The shepherd smiles. All too easy.

***

Hercules enters the cave just as the sun begins to lightly touch the horizon. His sword is drawn and his trained muscles are set. The cave is smaller than the hero thought: one single, spacious room just after the entrance. The ceiling is high, melting into blackness and shadow as it faded out of sight. The minotaur? No where to be seen. Only two things greeted the hero upon entering: a large stone at the back of the room rolled over an entrance way muffling the sound of scared sheep (bingo) and heavy, dull musk. Hercules can’t decide whether he enjoys the smell or not. It is not altogether unpleasant, but it is something he has never encountered before. A shot of warmth shoots through his stomach and down south to his cock. His head clouds slightly, and he drops his guard. The musk is pleasant, Hercules decides. A wonderful aroma that dulls his senses without drowning his thoughts entirely.

In his hazy state of mind, Hercules casually approaches the large stone and cracks his knuckles in dramatic fashion. If a mortal beast can move this stone in and out of place, an immortal demigod should have no problem. Hercules braces both his hands against the stone and pushes with all his might in one direction. Nothing. He huffs and sighs in frustration. He tries again. He pushes. He pulls. Nothing.

“Magic, my dear little hero. That stone won’t budge for anyone, man or god!” A booming voice over Hercules’ shoulder. On instinct, the hero swirls around and swings with all his might at the voice. The minotaur casually catches Hercules’ arm and twists the sword from his grip. He throws a punch with his free hand but is easily batted aside. A hooved leg kicks the hero squarely in the chest, smacking him back against the boulder with force. Dazed, Hercules scrambles to his feet to defend himself. The stench is back now and much stronger, much heavier. Though his adrenaline is running, his cock begins to harden.

“You cannot win here, son of Zeus, not with strength anyways.” The minotaur hulks over the hero with power and confidence. His human upper body ripples with cut muscle. A layer of sweat covers his body. The musk now assaults Hercules stronger and in waves, making him dizzier and dizzier. Something hangs over this cave, something Hercules has never encountered before. Something he’s never trained for. Only now does it dawn on him that he could be in way over his head.

“W-what do you mean?”

“You cannot open that door and you cannot physically best me. My magic lives in this cave, in my domain. You will not leave my home unless I ordain it to be so. But do not worry, foolish hero. I let all who trespass come and go as they want, so long as they best me not in strength, but in another test of “manhood”. Do you understand now? Little hero you have but one way out of this cave with those sheep: accept my challenge!” The minotaur booms with a smirk. His words do not leave much room for negotiation or disagreement. Fruthermore, what does he mean by “manhood”? Is that not the same as strength? Hercules knows he truly has no choice. He’ll have to play along

“I accept!” Hercules shouts in an instant. Maybe it’s the musk. Maybe it’s because he’s so eager to prove himself. Maybe it’s both. The son of Zeus accepts without a second thought. Without even knowing the challenge. The minotaur smirks and undoes the string holding his loincloth in place. Hercules backs up against the stone door, jaw dropping, as his senses are assaulted anew. A thick and veiny shaft of meat falls free, glistening with sweat and dripping from its monstrous head with pre-cum, leaking aggressively out from where its sheathed in foreskin. A punget musk penetrates Hercules’ nose and takes hold of his brain. Flaccid, it hangs between the beast’s hairy thighs at what has to be at least eight inches in length. A heavy set of balls hang low just behind the meaty shaft. Hairy and sweaty, the minotaur’s endowment is truly a sight to behold.

“Reveal yourself, son of Zeus! Surely a demigod such as yourself possesses a cock blessed by the immortals! A true hero such as yourself should have the endowment to back up your muscles, should you not?” The minotaur taunts. Hercules is hard and pulsing, straining against his own undergarments as the beast’s insults and musk fuck his mind like two cocks to a tight pussy. The hero blushes, and with trembling hands (and against his better judgment), undoes his own armor and undergarments. His cock springs free, four inches hard and pulsing, needy for attention. Before the hero can come to his senses, cover himself up, think to even make a run for it, or think at all, the minotaur acts. A large, strong hand grabs hold of Hercules’ manhood, small dick and tiny balls all fitting easily in his grip. With his other hand, the beast’s flaccid member is brought up next to the hero’s own cock, side by side for comparison.

“The son of Zeus has a clit!” The minotaur sounds like he is on the verge of a full-belly laugh. His warm, tight grip elicits a spurt of pre-cum from the humiliated hero. The behemoth of a cock pressed against his own sends chills through his body. The heated kiss of another shaft, much thicker than his own, fills Hercules with strange new sensations. “Who has won here, pathetic fool! Announce the winner of this challenge!”

“Y-you…” Hercules gets out in a hushed murmur, eager to hide both his discomfort and his rising enjoyment of the situation.

“Louder,” the beast lowers his voice to a threatening whisper. “Louder so ‘daddy’ can hear you!”

“Your c-cock has bested m-my own…” Hercules shakes as he speaks, doing everything in his power not to rut his hips into the hand gripping his shaft.

“Because you’ve given me such entertainment today, pathetic little hero, I’ll let you leave this cave alive,” the minotaur does not remove his grip even as he speaks of releasing Hercules. “After I teach you a very special lesson, and deliver a very important message.” The knowing tone of the beast’s voice causes Hercules’ eyes to snap up to meet his tormentor’s. The beast steps back and releasing his victim’s manhood. Instantly, the hero misses the warm sensations provided to him by the beast.

“Your lesson,” the beast lifts up his meaty shaft with one hand. “Will be to know your place from now on, demigod. Kiss the base of my shaft, where my cock meets my balls. Love them. Worship them. Inhale the musk that has bested you today. Place your lips on a true cock, taste the shaft that has brought you so much humiliation today.” Hercules’ body acts on its own, against his own mind. His nose is pressed against the base of the cock in no time, his lips gently kissing at the musky manhood like his life depended on it. The minotaur sighed contently, letting out a low chuckle.

“Hear my message, from my master: a new god arises in the south. Merciful and powerful, he knows of you and what your destiny is, son of Zeus. He shall expand his territory all the way to the halls of Olympus. Taking all who look upon him under his control. He gives this challenge to you now: journey south and meet him in combat. He knows you are the only one who can stop his war against the gods. The only real threat.” Hercules never stops kissing and sniffing. At one point, he sucks a large hairy ball into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue. While the words of the beast register with the hero, he is too focused on his worshipping to be bothered by this prophecy of battle. A word Hercules does not recognize is then spoken, and he hears the stone behind him begin to shift and roll away.

“Open your mouth, clit boy!” Hercules hair is grabbed and his face yanked upward. His jaw drops open, just in time to receive a line of spit that drops from the minotaur’s mouth. As Hercules swallows, he is smacked across the cheek with the monster’s shaft. Again. And again. And again. He is dazed, dropping limp to the ground as the minotaur releases him. “I would fuck you open right now, claiming your pussy as my own, if not for the commandment of my master. You would split so easily down my shaft. A demigod cocksleeve. The son of Zeus would spill my seed from his asshole if I had my way today. We shall meet again, clit boy. Until then, carry this as a reminder.” The best squats over the dazed and fallen hero, placing his heavy, thick balls against his nose. “Smell your defeater. Your victor. Know that my master possesses a musk that of which you cannot stand against. Pray that you meet him soon. Pray that he allows you to drink from his fountain of musk! Pray that he brings all of Olympus under his control! You should be so lucky that you and your daddy share his cock!” At those last words, Hercules passes out, both from exhaustion and over stimulation.

***

When Hercules awakes, he is just outside the mouth of the cave. It is morning, and he is surrounded by sheep. They graze peacefully, not a care in the world. The minotaur is nowhere to be seen. Next to the defeated hero lies his undergarments and bottom armor. With them is a new object as well: a map. A map of the region just south. A particularly wooded area is marked with an “x”. Hercules heart begins to race as the minotaur’s words begin to fill his head. Is this his fate? To face this new god in combat? To save Olympus? But how can he possibly do such a feat of heroism? If the mere musk of a filthy minotaur and his cock bring him to his knees, how is he to defeat this new foe? As these thoughts spread feat to his heart, they also spread lust to his crotch. Hercules takes his undersized cock between two of his fingers and begins to masturbate.


	3. The Empire Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessus expands his empire on accident while Hercules grapples with the consequences of his defeat at the hands (and musk) of the minotaur.

The stench of Hercules’ defeat remains on him long after he leaves the cave, and well into his return to the shepherd. The flock is happy to see their owner, and the shepherd is happy to have what is his back. If the man notices the smell of cock and humiliation on the hero, he does not say, nor does he ask what happened. Had Hercules been more focused and in his right mind? He would have seen the amused, knowing look in the man’s eyes. He would’ve better noticed the bulge in beneath his cloak, which grew and grew the longer they were around each other. Saying their goodbyes, Hercules quickly made his way back to the camp where he trained with his companions. At the edge of the clearing, he found an inconspicuous tree stump with a small alcove in the side. He hid the map there.

The next few weeks of training passed in a blur. The hero-to-be was unfocused, out of a tempo, and not all there. Mentally, he turned over the minotaur’s words in his head. Mentally, his mind was on a certain map to a certain new foe. Thoughts of those prophetic words and his fated showdown with the new god in the south kept him up at night. Worst of all, a single image stayed at the forefront of Hercules’ mind at all times: himself on his knees, a rough grip in his hair, and his nose planted firmly at the base of a meaty shaft of cock. Hercules could still smell the musk, could still taste the minotaur’s spit that filled his mouth. “Clit boy”, that mocking insult, echoed in his dreams, waking him often in a heated sweat with a throbbing erection. Late nights meant for sleep soon turned into nights of self-inflicted passion. On more than one occasion, Hercules would go days without bathing himself or washing his training gear. In a pile of filthy clothes and sweaty stink, the young hero would lose himself in lust in an effort to replicate the stench of the minotaur. He didn’t trust himself to return to the cave. He was too afraid of what would happen. Orgasm after orgasm. Hercules’ mind shattered each night, victim to the stench that had fucked his mind. Orgasm after orgasm. His mind went back again and again to the map he had hidden away just outside of the training grounds.

Things only seem to get worse as the weeks turn to months. Hercules has fallen behind in his training. When Phil sends him off on what the satyr believes to be the hero’s first little quest, it ends in disaster. The story the young hero gives upon returning is that the bandits were simply too much for him. He held his own but they all got away, simply too many for the mighty hero-in-training to properly handle. He could never tell what really happened, and prayed that no god witnessed his true failure. In reality, Hercules had never made it to the proposed campsite of the bandits. He had taken a wrong turn in the wooded area and happened across a roving band of minotaur, dressed from head to toe in armor. They smelled heavily of musk and sweat from a full day of rampaging and raging across the countryside. Hercules masturbated from a hidden spot, just a way away. When night fell and the minotaur slept, the young hero crept into the encampment and made away with sweaty portions of leather armor or discarded undergarments. Hercules spent three days masturbating with the different items of clothing over his nose. It took the last shreds of his will power to not fall before the beasts and beg for a fate similar to one he had experienced back at the cave all those weeks ago. Those last shreds of willpower are what brought him back into camp, shamefully empty handed and with lies to tell about his failure.

Hercules was a hero haunted, constantly carrying the weight of this new prophecy on his shoulders. Caught up in this lustful prison, the hero knew the only way he could escape and break this hold would be to confront the minotaur’s master. The new god in the south was the key to all of this. This new deity was hindering his training, keeping him from achieving the glory needed to walk in the same halls as his father. To be kept apart from his father was to lose everything he had been working towards. Hercules knew what he had to do. Hercules knew his fate could no longer be avoided or hidden. He was trapped, and his freedom meant being a true hero and being with his father. His time was coming, Hercules knew.

***

Nessus walked the grassy pasture just outside the city limits. Away from his new bustling city, away from his temple of worship, the centaur contemplated alone. The shepherd and the minotaur had both reported back overwhelmingly positive new about the first “chance” encounter with the son of Zeus. If the minotaur’s natural musk did so much damage to the young man, Nessus’ blessed stench would break the hero’s mind before his cock had the chance to. It had been so long since the centaur had started on his quest for true glory, for true domination. Hero after hero had come to him, seeking to build their own ego and notoriety. Hero after hero had fallen. Most fell, with cocks in their hands and jaws dropped, before getting within even a hundred yards of their target. A select few proved their worth and their might. They managed a javelin throw or two, maybe a swing of their sword. Some managed to level an insult, or announce their glory. A name here, a kingdom they ruled there. What came next was predictable. Nessus’ cock stirred as he remembered his favorite encounters. The young man from Athens who drank the sweat from the centaur’s armpit like a man dying of thirst. The small patrol of Spartan soldiers that, one after the other, lavished the centaur’s puffy asshole with licks and kisses. The captain of the patrol set a glowing example for his men when he kept his nose nestled in the beast’s balls for over three hours, breathing in and out like the devoted disciple he was. The centaur’s following grew into the thousands. It had been what felt like ages since his fateful discovery with the hero and the shepherd in that peaceful glade. Since he had truly tested his musky potential. His disciples worked day and night tirelessly to pave streets and build houses and erect temples, so long as they stayed close enough to the centaur that they could smell his delicious pheromones.

As if the gods themselves have heard the centaur’s thoughts, a troop of soldiers breaks through the clearing of trees in phalanx formation. Nessus ventures to guess they must easily number over a thousand strong. They fill the entire glade, pouring around the centaur and leveling their spears at him. A shout comes from a lone man (the commander of this army, the centaur can only assume) calling the beast’s surrender. Nessus can only smirk in response. Honestly, he’s impressed that the troops have made it this far with seemingly no issue, though as he looks closer he can see in the eyes of some men that familiar lust that has gripped so many in the past. The colors of these men’s uniforms as well as the ornate inscriptions on their shields reveals them to be Spartans, most likely looking for their lost patrol. Having heard any number of scary rumors about what happens just south of their city-state, it seems as if they weren’t taking any chances in uncovering the fate of their fallen comrades. The centaur ponders for a moment what he’ll do with an entire city-state under his control. He hadn’t planned to expand so quickly, but if their army was here on a silver platter, leaving their home defenseless, why not take the opportunity?

Nessus sighs contently and readies himself for what he knows is coming next: he raises his arms up casually over his head, exposing his shining, sweat covered armpits, each topped off with a shaggy mess of wet black hair. He gives his hind legs a slight spread and swishes his tail, drawing attention to his puffy perfect asshole. The thought of the worship he will receive elicits an erection, causing his thick shaft to droop low. A glob of pre-cum beings to drip out. Shields and spears begin to drop as the centaur closes his eyes in pleasure. All too easy.


	4. A Hero Chaste

Hercules would have heard the news first hand with Phil and Pegasus had he not opted to stay back and “protect” the training grounds. While his companions went into town to collect supplies, the young hero took his cock between two fingers and worked himself into a stupor. By the time he reached his fifth orgasm, his cock couldn’t get hard anymore. He laid back in the grass, exhausted, keeping the filthy loincloths he had collected from the minotaur pressed firmly over his nose. The flapping of wings jars him back to attention and he hides away the evidence of his sin as quickly as possible.

When the son of Zeus finally hears the news, he knows his worst fears are upon him. What he has been actively avoiding for close to a year now is finally becoming something he can no longer avoid. Sparta, to the south, had fallen some time ago to the mysterious new deity. Corinth, further north, fell next. All witnesses who managed to escape spoke of a sea of men swarming the countryside, heading from city to city at an alarming rate. Never before had such a force laid waist to the collective city-states of Greece in such an aggressive fashion. Panic had arisen in the northern city-states, especially as it seemed this new enemy was marching straight for Mount Olympus. Did this challenger mean to take on the gods themselves? All witnesses spoke of the fact that this mysterious new god had still yet to reveal himself to the public at large, and that it appeared that he had not come with his armies in their conquests. Nobody knew where he hid. A minotaur was said to be leading the troops. Hercules shuddered and felt a dull throb in his crotch as memories came flooding back into his mind. Finally, it was told that a group of heroes was being assembled to search the vast wilderness of the south for this hidden deity while an army was amassed in the north to fight the horde itself. Memories now of a map floated into Hercules’ head. That fated “x” that the son of Zeus knew in his heart was the exact location of his waiting enemy. This enemy who had haunted him for the past year, who’s musk supposedly dwarfed that of the minotaur he had faced. The memory played fresh in his mind in that moment: spit dripping into his open mouth, laying precious kisses at the base of a real man’s cock. Inhaling a musk that would see him drooling and stupid if he hadn’t been let off the hook so easily. Hercules gave a half-hearted excuse to Phil, something about being nervous or overwhelmed, and fled into the woods to get some fresh air.

Settling in a heated slump in an open break in the wooded forest, Hercules hurriedly freed his aching cock. The sight of his twitching, undersized cock drove him wild. The thought that his fated opponent could have a cock bigger than his? The fact that this true, real man could outsize him? Potentially humiliate him? Hercules took his tiny cock between two fingers and started to masturbate. He drops to his knees, mouth hanging open in pleasure. The hero’s eyes squeeze shut as he pumps his cock, moaning unabashedly as he strokes himself closer and closer to completion.

“Well look what we have here boys!” A taunting voice sends fear and embarrassment through the lustful hero. “Looks like we finally tracked down our little pervert!” The band of minotaur stand before Hercules, each wearing nothing but smirks and dripping, throbbing erections. “And boy is he little!” Laughs erupt from the group and Hercules’ hand goes still. His hero training kicks in and his mind starts to asses the situation, different ways to escape, how to overcome his opponents who have snuck up on him. He counts eight minotaur, each with different shades of fur, all rippling with muscle and raw sexuality. Between their legs hang thick flaccid trunks of meat, all uncircumcised. The way they swing and sway hypnotizes the hero. Hercules has to shake his head and clear his thoughts just to focus on the danger at hand.

“Leave i-in p-peace and we w-won’t have any issues! I h-have no quarrel with y-you!” Hercules rose onto shaky legs and did his best to puff out his chest and put on a show of intimidation. The minotaur laugh in return, slowly circling around the nervous hero.

“You mean you don’t remember us? Maybe you’ll remember this!” All at once, Hercules is beset upon at all sides, realization gripping the shaken demigod just the same as strong hands hold him in place. Walls of muscled fur grip the hero and any chance Hercules had to resist evaporated. It was happening all over again: strong, masculine beasts humiliating the would-be hero, overpowering them with their raw sexuality. The cherry on top comes in the form of sweaty, very used loin cloths shoved into the hero’s faces. While the rest of Hercules’ body goes limp almost immediately, his tiny cock stands straight up, begging for attention.

“I bet this little guy sees lots of action!” One minotaur laughed.

“Sure, fucking hand pussy maybe!” Another responded, gaining louder laughs and taunts from the rest.

“I know we’re under specific orders to save his ass for the boss, but let’s work him down a little yeah? Show him a little preview of what his new life holds?” All the minotaur nod and smirk, ready to get to work on the dazed and horny hero. The two holding his arms and upper body each take a free hand and fight for control of the boy’s mouth. Whenever one gets ahold of Hercules’ face, his gasping mouth is roughly tongue fucked. His mouth is swapped back and forth between the two like a paid whore. One in front kneels and takes Hercules’ tiny prick into his mouth, swallowing the undersized length with no problem. The minotaur expertly works his tongue, licking skillfully at the demigod’s glans. Hercules moans around the tongue currently down his throat and bucks his hips. As his hips swing back from his thrust, strong hands hold his lower body in place and he feels a tongue lavish his puckered, vulnerable anus. When that one goes away, he feels another set of hands join the ones already there, and another tongue tags in to work his asshole over. In the small pauses between when his mouth is being used, the humiliated hero can vaguely make out the other three minotaur lurking at the edges of his vision. They lazily stroke their massive trunks of meat, eying Hercules like a slab of meat to be used and abused.

The five minotaur on the boy’s body work him like an instrument they’ve had their whole lives. They play him to the edge of climax and then send him crashing back down to reality before he can achieve ecstasy. When the mouth blowing him becomes too good, it withdraws completely. At the same time, a mouth on his asshole will close its lips down completely and suck. Gasping from the abrupt change in sensation, one of the two minotaur will clamp down on Hercules’ mouth aggressively, using their tongue to cut off his airflow and choke him as if he were choking on a cock. Lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and dealing with an orgasm that never came to fruition, Hercules’ mind and vision begins to go black. Never in his life has he ever been worked over or sexually stimulated like this. Another creature has never truly laid hands on him, worked so hard to expertly wring pleasure out of his body. He’s in heaven and in hell. He loses count of how many times he’s been taken to the edge of orgasm.

Suddenly, everything stops. Hercules falls helplessly to the ground, landing on his knees, his cock bobbing and straining at the air. It leaks and twitches, begging to be touched again by anything that isn’t Hercules’ own hand. Gasping for air and empty in the head of everything except pleasure, the demigod immediately reaches for his cock to start stroking. He just barely gets two fingers on the tiny shaft before a strong hand holds him back.

“That clit doesn’t cum until we do, hero boy!” A low voice whispers in his ear, and Hercules shudders from the hot breath on his neck. The three minotaur that had been waiting for who knows how long suddenly step forward, hands working their cocks over. Up and down their shafts they go, lines of pre streaming from their twitching heads. The smell hits Hercules all at once. Its strong, musky. It smells like the coveted loincloth only multiplied by ten. The demigod feels like he could cum untouched. One of his nipples is suddenly tweaked, eliciting a gasp from the hero. As if on cue, three heavy globs of cum shoot across Hercules’ face and muscled chest. And then three more. And then more. Heavy, thick ropes of cum cover the hero’s face and fill his mouth. Four other minotaur step up to take their place when their cocks run out. Another torrent of hot cum and Hercules is dripping now, his mouth never closing for a moment. Rope after rope. At this point, his senses are clogged with cum. Its all he can smell, taste, see. He hears the laughter and grunts and moans around him. His hair clings to his scalp, wet and sticky with the weight of the minotaur’s seed. The last minotaur releases Hercules hand, which falls limply to the hero’s side. Thoughts of touching himself are so far gone in his muddled mind, he no longer needs to be held back.

“Are you a hero?” The last minotaur asked, placing the head of his long, sizeable shaft at the edge of Hercules’ open mouth, resting the glans on his lips.

“Y-yes…” came the weak and barely audible reply. He barely forms the word around the cockhead at the edge of his mouth.

“One more time, and be really honest, your clit’s orgasm depends it, son of Zeus.” The minotaur’s words seem to shake the hero out of his lustful stupor. He was a demigod. A son of Zeus. The son of an Olympian. The chosen, prophetic hero who was destined to face these beast’s master and put him in his place. Hercules was better than this!

“I’m a h-hero! I’m the s-son of Zeus!” Hercules musters all the confidence he can, considering his current position. Instead of backlash or opposition to his words, the minotaur simply smiles and nods.

“That’s right pretty boy. Keep that mindset, keep believing that this ends any other way than you speared on a horsecock next to your daddy!” Hercules’ eyes went wide with surprise at those words. All the minotaur laugh at this reaction.

“Oh you thought this only pertained to mortals? You think just because they sit on high and mighty above us, they can resist us any better than you can? Show him boys!” One the minotaur steps out of the group, holding something small and golden in his hands. Confidence shattered, Hercules can only watch stupidly as small golden cage is fixed to his shriveled flaccid cock. He recognizes the craftsmanship from some of the items and trinkets around Phil’s camp, especially the signature inscription from its creator: Hephaestus, the god of forges and metalworking. One the of most powerful Olympians. Forging cock cages for an enemy of the known world and of the Olympian’s seat of power. Just like his cock, Hercules’ will shrivels and shrinks. He makes no move to resist as the cage is placed on his cock. A faint glow and shimmer emits from the object as it locks into place.

“Responds only to our master’s voice, his chosen ‘keyword’. If you ever want that little clit free to play with, you’ll have to face your prophetic enemy whether you like it or not. Because you clearly didn’t care about the freedom of your homeland or your people, maybe you’ll care about the freedom of your pathetic little cock!” The minotaur all laugh at the cum covered hero, humiliated beyond reason and caged like an animal. The last minotaur presses his cock all the way into the boy’s mouth without warning, hitting the back of the demigod’s throat in one thrust. Hercules gags and breaths heavily through his nose, sucking in as much air as possible. Smirking, the minotaur squeezes the hero’s nose shut with his fingers.

“Lights out, clit boy! We hope we run into you again!” The edges of his vision begin to go black. The last sensation Hercules can register before losing consciousness is the taste of cum as it shoots down Hercules’ throat. Covered in cum, and now filled with jizz, the hero collapses, left alone in a wet heap in the secluded glade. As night falls, the only light is that of the moon and the shining cage around the unconscious hero’s cock.


	5. Two Birds, One Stone

The immortal is surprisingly sturdy and well built, given the punishment he has been taking, Nessus concludes. The centaur has holstered his cock deep within the vulnerable and abused ass of the forge god. Powerful, cum-filled balls trimmer and shake with each thrust, slapping up against Hephaestus’ own undersized pair of balls. Then again, to Nessus, even the sexual prowess of a god pails in comparison to his own. Even if they were to be adequately sized, it would make no difference in the centaur’s eyes. One whiff of his musk and the mere sight of his manhood made all equal before the conqueror.

Now, deep in the forges of a secluded forge-turned-prison, Nessus was breaking in his newest conquest even further. The immortal blacksmith, in his hot and sweaty haze, had not lasted even a minute. Nessus remembers the first encounter fondly, as he calmly approached, sweat dripping from his body. When he took his cock out of his new favorite toy, he might have Hephaestus breath only his armpits for a few hours, to evoke the memory of their first meeting. Not that “memory” even mattered anymore, not when the stench of Nessus’ manhood was in play. The centaur had found that once his victims truly broke, their mind became like unmolded clay, ready to be remade in whatever shape Nessus would choose. Right now, Nessus had chosen to keep Hephaestus as the blacksmith, but only with different items to make. Unbreakable and endowed with magical properties, these items in the right hands could save many and do a great deal of good for the world. In the hands of Nessus, however, the direction of this forge would take on a more sinister, and sexual, approach.

The chastity cage had worked like a charm, and fit just the same, Nessus had been told. A smile crossed his face as he reared back, pulling his entire cock out of the poor god’s bruised asshole, before thrusting it all back inside. He had not even met this prophetic hero, yet he already had a firm grip on his balls. A shiver of pleasure runs of the beast’s spine as he thinks of what will happen when Hercules comes within even a mile of his sex-ridden body stench. The gods themselves were nothing against him now. Nessus had been fucking daily, nonstop, without end for months now. His body was covered in a constant sheen of sweat, and his cock was perpetually at half-mast and begging for a hole to fuck open and ruin. A rumor had begun to swirl amongst his army and by those under his conquest that his balls were fixed with magic, as they seemed to hold a never ending reservoir of semen. This very claim was only being substantiated now, as Nessus let loose another torrent of cum deep into the bowls of his latest victim. Hephaestus’ mouth fell open in a silent gasp and his tongue rolled out. It didn’t matter that this was the eighth time he’d taken a load this heavy from the centaur, each rope of cum felt brand new when it painted his insides white. Each rope of cum tied the bonds of his submission tighter and tighter. Suddenly flipped over onto his back, the Olympian was met with an empty sensation and a sudden smack to his stomach as the centaur’s cock was unsheathed and slapped against his body. Its size cut through the god’s stupor and elicited a shocked gasp of surprise and admiration. One final shot of cum paints Hephaestus’ features white and the exhausted, sweating deity faints. 

“Consider this payment for your hard work this last month, my pet!” Nessus laughs as he wipes the sweat from his brow. A roll of sweat, and then another, streams from his hairy armpits and down his abdomen. “I look forward to your continued compliance,” the centaur eyes the newly fixed chastity cage restricting the god’s cock. “Though I think ‘fucked submission’ may be the more appropriate term!”

Nessus hears a commotion from outside the secluded forge. He can’t help the smile that breaks across his features. The guards he had brought along were simply bait. The lowest of the low in his armies, whoever beat them would surely be confident in their engagement with Nessus. All the better. Seeing the confidence and hope leave the eyes of his victims as they breathed in their doom was always a sight to behold. He simply hoped the reinforcements sent to check up on the currently-fucked-open Olympian would be another celestial to add to his ranks.

“None can stand against the god of war!” A voice echoed through the forge from the entrance and Nessus smiled. Ares would do just fine. The centaur collected another freshly crafted golden chastity cage from a nearby worker’s bench and lifted his arms above his head. A sense of ease and peace washed over the conquering centaur as he heard the stomping of footsteps come closer and closer. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairy, unkempt armpits. Nessus closed his eyes and sighed. Someone would have to lick them clean for him.


End file.
